


Old Habits

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Burt has been the one to bath Kurt since he slipped in the bath when he was little and almost downed. Now that Kurt is getting older, he feels too embarrassed to have his father still bathing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Habits

"Okay, kiddo," Burt called. "Let's go, it's getting late."

Kurt paused in the hallway, looking at the slant of light coming through the bathroom doorway, painting on the opposite wall with a rectangle of yellowish light.

He could hear the water gushing from the taps, tumbling into the bath, gurgling richly, the noise rebounded off the bathroom tiles. He heard the metallic rattle of the chain on the bath plug as his father stoppered the drain.

"Kurt?" Burt called.

Kurt went to the doorway, knowing he couldn’t put it off any longer.

"What do you want, Wild Rose or, ah… _Oriental Opulence_?" Burt snorted a little as he read off the labels on the bottles he held in his hands. "This one new?" He popped the cap on the red bottle and sniffed it. "Huh." He squinted as he scrutinized the picture on the front, then glanced up when Kurt still didn’t answer. "Well?" he said, waggling the bottle at him.

"Whichever’s fine," Kurt mumbled, fiddling with the button on his shirt sleeve.

"Rose it is then." Burt bent down, leaning on the side of the bath, and tipped the bottle, the creamy liquid drizzling out from the nozzle in the thin, pink stream.

Burt had his sleeves rolled up over his thick, strong forearms, just like he always did for bath time.

He dipped his hand in the water, testing the temperature, fiddling with the taps for a second.

"Okay," he said, capping the bubble bath and setting it on the sideboard. "Clothes off, let's go."

Now was the time, Kurt told himself, now was really when he ought to speak up. He opened his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue.

His father arched an eyebrow, watching him expectantly.

Kurt closed his mouth and came in from the doorway, starting to unbutton his shirt, his eyes downcast, his cheeks warming as the air in the small bathroom warmed with the steam off the hot water.

Kurt had undressed in front of his father countless times. It was all too easy to just go through the motions.

"Good boy." Burt patted his shoulder as he went past. "Don't let that over-fill."

Kurt pulled his shirt carefully off and folded it, laying it on the lid of the toilet seat. He bent and pulled off one sock. He looked at his bare foot next to his clothed one and thought to himself that he should stop. He should put his shirt back on and twist the taps off and go to Burt and tell him it was time to stop.

The thick spatter of water was loud, pulsing, in the tiled bathroom. The air was becoming misty.

Kurt shivered a little, gooseflesh rising on his arms, his bare chest.

He bent and took off his other sock, undid his belt buckle, slowly popped the button on his jeans, each small gesture towards undressing making him feel more and more tense.

This whole thing should have stopped a long time ago.

"What, is this a million-dollar outfit or something?"

Burt had returned. He closed the door behind him even though it was just the two of them in the house.

"Think you could hurry things along a little, your highness?" he chuckled, positioning the little stool in its usual place next to the tub.

He tested the water again, put the cold tap off and left the hot water to run a while longer.

Kurt watched the shift of his father's broad back under his blue flannel shirt.

_Dad, we shouldn’t do this anymore. I can do this on my own._

How hard could it be to say just those few words?

Kurt pushed his jeans down and stepped out of them, placed them, folded, on top of his other clothes.

His father turned to look at him as he straightened. Burt leaned a little forward on his stool, his hands resting high on his thighs, the pose betraying only mild impatience. He nodded towards the tub, filled with foamy hot water.

"All ready."

Kurt lowered his head, hooking the elastic band of his boxer briefs with his thumbs. He held still like that, then looked up at his father again.

"Dad..." he said reluctantly.

Burt’s shoulders slumped a little and he put his head to one side, a look of long-suffering coming over him. "How many times we gotta go through this, Kurt? I'm your father. There ain’t nothing there that I haven't seen before."

Kurt pressed his lips together, lifting his chin.

"Oh no," Burt said sharply, holding up a hand, preempting him. "I don't want to hear it."

Kurt dropped his eyes. He pushed the briefs down, over his flaccid cock, down his thighs, past his knees, and stepped quickly out of them, bending awkwardly to pick them up off the floor, putting them with the rest of his clothing. His face was red as he turned back to face his father.

He went to the bath and Burt took hold of his elbow, like he always did.

"Good boy," he murmured, his hand strong and warm around the delicate bone, holding Kurt steady as he stepped over the edge of the tub, plunging his foot up to the calf in the bubbles and deliciously warm water. Burt kept hold of him as he brought his other leg over, and then as he lowered himself.

Kurt sank down into the warmth, relishing the feeling of the hot water enveloping his lower body, creeping up his spine, his toes and the tops of his feet burning a little with the contrast from the cold.

"That good?" Burt said, taking his seat and reaching for the flannel.

Kurt nodded.

"Lean back," Burt said.

Kurt obeyed, slowly, bubbles crowing fluffy and thick around his shoulders. He tried to scoop them up around his chest, feeling weirdly shy, as he always did, of his pink little nipples showing through the water.

Burt stroked his hand through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead, then passed his thumb over the ridge of his brow, smoothing his eyebrow.

"That's better, isn't it?" he murmured. Kurt turned his head, the base of his skull resting on the rim of the tub, and gazed up at his father. The profound sense of peace that had come over him was undeniable.

Burt took up the flannel and rubbed the soap into it, working it to a lather between his hands. Kurt watched his strong, blunt fingers performing the task with care. Burt did everything with special care for Kurt's baths.

Kurt told himself he'd just go along with this part. He'd make himself speak up soon, just not right now.

"Feet up," Burt said. He always started with Kurt's feet.

Kurt put his left leg up on the side of the tub and Burt took his foot in his strong, warm hands, slick and slippery with soap, and scrubbed the bottom of his foot, working the flannel into the sensitive arch, doing it slow and firm so as not to tickle. He worked the flannel patiently over each of Kurt's toes, giving Kurt's big toe an extra little squeeze between his thumb and finger, so Kurt couldn't help but snort quietly with unwilling laughter. Burt still did this from time to time, he’d done it more when Kurt was little.

Kurt crossed his legs over so he Burt could reach his other foot. After that, Burt worked the flannel up Kurt’s legs, massaging with his hands, into the soft flesh of his calves, the hairs on Kurt’s legs becoming soapy, the light scratch of his father’s fingernails through it making Kurt shudder pleasurably.

Kurt's face was warm from the heat of the water, the steam in the air, but he would have blushed anyway. He knew, very well, that this situation between him and his father was not normal. Burt’s familiarity with his body often put strange questions in Kurt's mind, that he would rather not have entertained, like what went through Burt's mind when he was confronted with the changes that had come over Kurt's body since puberty? What did his father think of the hair on his legs, the soft trail down his navel, and lower? His body was so very different from his father’s, Kurt sometimes wondered what went through Burt’s mind as he bathed Kurt, touched his skin, handled his limbs, and saw his maturing body day by day.

"Arms," Burt said.

Kurt sat forward in the tub and lifted one arm up. Burt cupped water in his hand and sluiced it up Kurt's flank, up into his armpit, doing it three or four times so Kurt's skin was slick, and then rubbing the soapy flannel into his armpit, down along his ribs. Kurt turned his face aside, closing his eyes.

Burt stroked his fingers into the hair at Kurt's armpits, now fluffy with soap.

"Dad." Kurt twisted away, curling his arm protectively, tucking his head down.

"You keep still," Burt said, fondness in his voice.

He rinsed the soap off Kurt, then it was the same procedure for the other arm. Burt took time to scrub the flannel up and down Kurt's back every so often as he worked.

Kurt drew his legs up, resting his chin on his knees as his father scrubbed the back of his neck, and finally, uncomfortably, behind his ears. Kurt pressed his forehead into his wet knees, resisting the urge to complain at the rough lick of the flannel.

Kurt lay back once that was done.

It had to be now. He had to say something now.

He tipped his head back as Burt swiped the flannel down the underside of his chin, down his neck, gently over his Adam's apple. He washed the tender dip of flesh between Kurt’s collar bones, worked the cloth down Kurt's chest, business-like, not gentling his touch as he drew the flannel over first one nipple and then the other. Kurt bit his lower lip, the sensitive pink flesh responding under the texture of the cloth, rough and wet like a cat’s tongue, then to Burt’s fingertips stroking slippery over his nipples, then down his chest.

"Dad," Kurt said in a small voice.

He'd done it all wrong, left things to the last possible moment. He out of time now, there was no way to put it off any longer.

"Dad, can I…do the rest myself?"

Burt's hands still on his chest. He looked at Kurt with a flat, unimpressed expression, then sighed and braced his forearms on the rim of the tub.

"No, buddy. Come on. We're almost done now," he said firmly.

"I just– I don’t–"

"Up you get."

Kurt looked down at the other end of the bath, at the taps, the shiny metal showing a stringy, distorted reflection of the parts of his body that were above the water.

"Dad, I'm sixteen–"

"You do as you're told, Kurt," Burt said sharply. He held out his hand for Kurt to take. "Stand up."

"I don't want to," Kurt said, the words coming out of his mouth, bold and blunt, just like that, startling him a little. He lay quite still, waiting for his father's reaction, keeping his gaze fixed on the taps.

"I'm going to ask you one more time to stand up and let me finish washing you," Burt said quietly. Kurt's wet skin prickled at hearing that tone in his voice. It was his father's 'not messing around anymore' voice, and Kurt had learned long ago that it was the signal to _stop messing around_.

Kurt turned his head swiftly to look at Burt, sensing his opportunity to calmly present his case fast slipping away.

"I can do this by myself," he said in a rush, sitting forward, because lying against the back of the tub, surrounded by warm, bubbly water, just wasn't helping him feel in control. "I'm old enough now–"

"You want to slip and fall again? Huh? You want to put me through that again?" Burt said, his voice rising.

"I was _seven_ , Dad!" Kurt burst out, all the frustration he'd been holding in erupting somewhere in his chest, shaky and hot. "Can't you see I just – I don't need your help anymore?"

"You think so, huh. You think you know best. _I'm_ the parent here. Me."

"I'm just – I’m sick of you treating me like a little kid," Kurt said, his voice sounding young and shrill to his own ears.

"Okay," Burt said quietly, dispassionately, sitting back in his seat. "I'm counting to three. You aren't on your feet by the time I'm done, you're going to be in real trouble." Burt held up one hand, one large finger. "One."

Kurt stayed exactly as he was, not budging an inch, forcing himself to hold his father's gaze.

Another finger when up.

"Two."

Kurt’s throat felt choked with frustration.

"Three."

Kurt didn't move.

Burt lowered his hand, resting it on his knee. There was silence in the bathroom for a long, drawn-out moment. Kurt had his hands circled around his ankles. His heart was beating rapidly. He'd never disobeyed his father like this before, not so baldly. He looked down at the water, the bubbles now mostly gone. He felt a thrill of terror go up his spine as the silence dragged on.

All at once, Kurt gripped the sides of the bath and hauled himself up, water streaming off him. The enamel squeaked under his feet as he turned nervously to face his father.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Burt didn't move for a few seconds more, and Kurt stood there, the air cool against his slick skin.

At last, Burt reached out and took a hold of his hip, held the flannel in his other hand and scrubbed at Kurt's belly-button, his navel, then lower. He washed Kurt's penis gently, using his fingers, soapy and warm, over his balls, drawing his fist once down Kurt's cock to slick the soap off.

Kurt turned around without Burt needing to ask, cowed by his father's silence, knowing he'd gone too far with what he’d said.

Burt parted his buttocks, rubbed the flannel down Kurt's crack, over his hole, between his legs, his perineum, then scrubbed the cloth vigorously over Kurt's cheeks, the backs of his thighs, so the soft flesh tingled, growing flushed.

Burt lifted his arm up for Kurt to hold onto as he lowered himself once more into the warm water.

Kurt watched his father nervously as he leant over and tugged the plug up, the chain rattling softly as he hung it over the tap.

The drain gurgled as the water started to let out.

"You’re gonna stay here," Burt said quietly, "you’re not gonna move until I come back. You understand me?"

"Yes," Kurt said in a small voice.

Burt stool, put his stool aside, then left the room, leaving the door wide open behind him.

The water sucked and churned in the drain. Kurt drew his knees up once more, wrapping his arms around his legs, the stir of cooler air from the corridor sending a shiver up his wet back as the warm water steadily drained away.

Blunt dread pooled in his belly. He cast a doleful look at the radiator rack on the wall where his towel hung. His father always had a towel there ready for him, warm and comforting after his bath.

The last of the water trickled down the plughole. There were a few clumps of bubbles still clinging to the walls of the tub, crackling softly.

Kurt shivered. The mist in the air was dissipating and the tiles on the wall were streaming with condensation.

Kurt strained to listen, wondering what his father was doing, where he’d gone.

It felt as though fifteen minutes or so passed, and still Burt didn’t return. Kurt’s trepidation mounted. The house was ominously silent. The bathroom was cold now, the air chilly against Kurt’s damp skin. He’d unfolded his arms, curled them close against his chest instead, his hands clasped under his chin.

When at last he heard his father’s footsteps, Kurt twisted his head back to look, his eyes flying to his father’s face as soon as the stocky man appeared in the doorway.

Burt came slowly into the room, stood next to the tub and peered down at Kurt, his face closed-off and stern.

"Are you ready to get out?" he said with a jerk of his chin.

Kurt nodded, and held out his arm, and his father bent and took hold of his elbow once again to help him up. Kurt placed his hand against his father’s chest as he stepped out onto the bath mat, then stood with his shoulders hunched, against the cold and his nakedness, and looked up into Burt’s face.

"Dad, I’m really sorry–"

"You save that apology," Burt said tonelessly. "You were disrespectful. You were disobedient. You’re going to get punished for it."

"I wasn’t trying to be–"

"Not another word." Burt stepped back, held his hand out towards the door. "Downstairs. Let’s go."

Kurt’s mouth twisted unhappily, but he knew better than to speak again. He glanced at his towel on the wall rack, then back at his father. Burt ignored him, his hand staying as it was, indicating the door.

Kurt turned miserably and walked from the room, blushing hotly, wrapping his arms around his chest, feeling keenly self-conscious of his naked bottom as he went down the hall, his father following close. He went down the stairs, his bare feet padding on each carpeted step, while his father’s Timberland boots tread heavy behind him.

Kurt hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, dropping one hand to his crotch, something about the mundane sight of the house’s entrance hall and the front door making him feel even more vulnerable, standing there damp and naked.

Burt gestured towards the living room and Kurt stepped inside obediently, going to stand beside the sofa while Burt went and sat in his armchair.

There were no lights on, the only light coming from the hall and the kitchen.

"Come stand here." Burt pointed to the floor directly in front of him.

Kurt did as he was told, his body tense, his shoulders drawn up, his hands shifting awkwardly in a weak effort to shield his body. Burt watched him silently for a moment, then said,

"You behaved badly tonight, Kurt."

Kurt looked down at his legs, his feet.

"It's been one time too many with this nonsense now, okay?" Burt went on. “This is my household, you are my son." He rubbed his jaw, his chin. "I didn’t think we’d still be needing to do this. _You almost died._ Frankly, I don’t care if you think it happened a long time ago, long enough that we should both just forget about it. I _can’t_ forget. I almost lost you that day."

"I’m sorry, Dad," Kurt said, his voice thin and choked, his eyes starting to burn.

"You can keep apologizing, you’re still getting punished. You understand why?"

Kurt dropped his head.

"Kurt?"

"Yes," Kurt mumbled.

Burt nodded. "Okay then." He shifted forward in his chair and patted his thigh. "You get fifteen."

Kurt stepped forward, dropping his hands away to his sides meekly, blushing at how his cock jostled gently as he moved, aware that Burt could see everything, but knowing that there could be no hiding or shying away now. He’d brought this punishment on himself.

He put his hand on his father's knee to steady himself as he climbed across his lap. Burt held onto his side as he arranged himself, stretching his legs out straight behind him, letting his arms hang loose before him.

Burt put his hand on Kurt's ass cheek for a moment, just resting it there, letting Kurt feel the large, solid heat of it.

Kurt lowered his head, resting his chin against his father's thigh, clenching his jaw tight, waiting.

Burt drew his hand back and Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, his body tensing in anticipation.

Burt's hand landed, flat, stinging, with a loud crack, hard flesh meeting the soft flesh of Kurt's bottom. Kurt couldn't keep from yelping – he hadn’t been spanked in a while, and the sharp burn of it was an electrifying shock, instantaneous, difficult for his mind to accept.

Burt struck him again, again, one cheek, then the other, and Kurt jolted and jumped in his lap with each blow, his legs jerking out behind him, the fabric of Burt’s jeans rubbing coarsely against his skin. Burt didn’t let up his firm grip on Kurt’s shoulder, keeping him in place.

The blows landed, the rhythm steady, until Kurt's tender flesh was burning, almost numb. Burt wasn't going easy on him. Kurt hadn't been counting, and it seemed to go on and on, the quiet in the shadowy living room broken by each slap, and Kurt’s weak little high-pitched grunts of pain.

There was silence then, Burt's slightly uneven breathing, Kurt's snuffling, quick breaths. His lips were trembling. He didn’t know when the tears had stared, but his face was red and wet with tears, snot running from his nose onto his upper lip. He sniffed pitifully.

Burt took hold of his shoulders and Kurt slid from his lap, backwards, going onto his knees. He sniffed again, his breath coming wet and hiccupping, and tried to wipe at his face with his hand, but Burt caught his wrist.

Burt stared down at him with his mouth slightly open, breathing roughly, as though striking Kurt's bottom fifteen times had been a tremendous exertion.

~~~

Kurt's legs felt wobbly under him. He felt a lot smaller, now swaddled in the heavy warm quilt, and very safe, with his father climbing the steps so close behind him.

They reached the landing and Burt stopped him, holding his shoulders from behind.

"Gonna come to my room?" Burt said, his voice low and a little thick. "Come to Daddy’s room?"

Kurt swayed on his feet. He nodded slowly.

He let himself be shepherded down the corridor. In the dark doorway of his father’s room, Kurt stood and trembled as he let the quilt fall from him and Burt pressed himself to Kurt’s back, reached around and settled his big hand over Kurt’s belly.

"You sure, baby?" Burt mouthed at the side of his neck, lips open and hot, fat tongue swiping lazily, making Kurt shudder. Burt pushed his clothed crotch against Kurt’s ass, his jeans and his shirt irritating the still-tender flesh. "Little baby?" he whispered, stroking his fingertips through the fine hair just above the base of Kurt’s penis.

~~~

He was on his Daddy’s bed, his naked bottom still burning from where he'd been struck, his cock hard under him.

Burt’s tread as he came to the bed made Kurt’s breath falter.

"Show me again, baby," Burt murmured.

Kurt squirmed a little on his stomach, looking back over his shoulder at his father, then he reached his hands back, taking his ass cheeks in his hands and spreading them, holding himself open, his head resting on its side, cheek against the duvet, burning, his whole body feeling flush and tingly with the exhibition which had earlier felt so unbearable. He lay there, showing his Daddy his dusky pink hole, breathing a little roughly though slack lips.

"Like that, Daddy?" he whispered, sinking deeper, sinking down into the clutch of heat and shadows.

"Yeah. Just like that, baby," Burt said softly. "You’re so good, aren’t you? So good for me."

Kurt felt the mattress dip next to his leg as Burt planted his hand there, lowered himself to his knees on the floor next to the bed.

"You’re so shy with that little hole, aren’t you?" Burt whispered, the puff of his breath brushing Kurt's inner thigh. "Hm, baby?" His voice was a low rumble, deep and familiar, and it licked a hot fire in Kurt's belly.

Kurt's anus twitched. Kurt's blush was all down his chest, all up his neck, his cheeks, into his scalp, blushing to the roots of his hair.

Then Burt's face, cheeks rough with stubble, descended into the splayed crack of Kurt's ass, and he sealed his mouth, wet and sucking and generous, over Kurt's hole.

Kurt squealed, his legs jerking, his spine trying to arch. Burt's large hands pressed on top of his, taking hold of his buttocks, greedily clutching at him, and Kurt dropped his hands away, his fingers gripping at the bed sheets.

Burt's tongue laved wet and hot over his hole, again and again, his lips sucking noisily, hungrily, his thick strong fingers kneading the dough–soft flesh of Kurt's ass.

"Daddy!" Kurt was embarrassed that his voice came out so high and reedy from this throat, making him sound much younger.

Burt drew him mouth back, exhaled a slow breath against Kurt's wet, tender skin, blowing so his anus twitched, the tight muscle constricting.

"So beautiful, baby," Burt grumbled, sounding almost dangerous, like a bear growling. "Beautiful little boy. You know I don't like it when I have to punish you." His fingers eased their grip, stroking softly over Kurt's ass cheeks, pushing the flesh together, easing it apart again. "I don't like seeing my little boy sad. You're not going to be a bad boy again, are you?"

"N-No, Daddy."

Burt grunted, stroking his thumbs down into the hot seam of Kurt's ass, then he was settling his mouth over Kurt's slippy blushing asshole, his tongue probing with a stiff point.

Kurt moaned, overwhelmed as Burt's tongue began to fuck him shallowly, the very tip easing in and out, teasing the muscle to loosen, forcing its way inside, retreating and returning. All the while Burt grumbled low in his throat. He drew back enough to spit, a hot trickle of saliva at dribbled down Kurt's anus, down, slippery to his ballsack, then he swiped with his tongue, nuzzled at Kurt's vulnerable sack, and then mouthed his way messily back to his hole.

Kurt's whole body was burning, twisting and flexing sumptuously on the bed.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" Burt murmured. "That make you hot?"

Kurt whimpered, pressing his face into the sheets.

"You think I don't see how hot that gets you?" Burt said, his voice low, seeming to vibrate through Kurt's bones. "You like Daddy's tongue in there, don't you?"

A strained, half–sob broke from Kurt's throat.

"Shh-shh, it's okay, baby. It's okay. You just let your Daddy take care of you." Burt's tongue laved soothingly at his entrance again, then stiffened and drove slowly, achingly, into Kurt's ass, pressing deep, wriggling wet and hot, exquisite. Kurt's anus squeezed around him, the ring of muscle constricting under the onslaught. Burt drew his tongue out only to wet it and feed it slick back inside.

Kurt was moaning, ashamed, too aroused to hold back, pushing his ass back against his father's face, his legs spread wide. 

"Look at that," Burt groaned approvingly, drawing back, spreading Kurt with his fingers, admiring his asshole blushing hot, wet and well-worked by Burt's tongue. "You're such a good boy for Daddy."

Kurt's prick twitchend. He could feel how sticky he was at his slit, he knew that his father could see.

~~~

"You should go to your bed," Burt murmured, later, when they were lying together under the covers.

"Can’t I stay?" Kurt said.

Burt’s hand slid slowly up the back of his thigh, up under the curve of his ass cheek, holding him there.

"I love how your hands feel…on me," Kurt whispered haltingly, keeping his eyes closed, splaying his hand on his father’s chest, fingers catching lightly on the coarse hair there. "Can I stay here?"

Burt released a gusting breath that had an undertone of a groan in it.

"You don’t like to make things easy, do you?" he said, his voice low. He took a handful of Kurt’s ass cheek, a slow, firm squeeze of fingers. Kurt’s head came up with a huffed little gasp of pain, the flesh there still tender from where Burt had hit him. He opened his eyes, just barely, just slits, and regarded his father’s coarse features in the dimness. He leant slowly up, on his elbows, drawing himself up his father’s body, leaning over him. He bent his head carefully, looking from Burt’s eyes to his mouth.

"You should go to your bed," Burt said again.

Kurt licked his lips. His father’s fingers teased at the edge of his crack.

"Yes, Daddy," he breathed. He bent, kissing his father’s forehead, before sitting up and climbing off him, over the bed.

He paused in the doorway.

"Goodnight, Daddy."

~~~

[end]

**Author's Note:**

> There are some missing parts to this fic that I'm still in the process of editing. Will try and have it whole and finished soon.


End file.
